


Kill Them or Save Them

by TaintofTaia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaintofTaia/pseuds/TaintofTaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the moment Merlin plunges the sword in her gut and pulls it out again, a glance is shared between Merlin and Morgana.  And within that glance, Merlin shows Morgana all that she lost and all that she forged and all that he saw and knew.  When Merlin and Arthur walked away, Morgana still had not yet given her last breath.  So she cast a spell and went to her brother.  No mortal blade could fell her.  As such, a magical one, though it would have its way, would have a difficult time as well.  It gave her all the time she needed.<br/>She goes back in time to have a little talk with her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Them or Save Them

**Author's Note:**

> Cannon until Camlann. Semi-remorseful Morgana. I love time travel fics and will alter cannon to suit my needs and make it work.  
> My first posted Merlin fic.  
> One Shot.  
> 

“What the—Morgana?!”  Arthur startled awake to find Morgana, or someone who looked like a scary version of her, straddling him in his bed.

“Hello, Arthur,” she drawled as she ran her hands up his bare chest to then rest her hands on the bed on either side of his head.  She leaned down and brought her mouth to his ear.  “How are you this fine morning?” and then sat up.  Her voice lilted off as she looked at him dangerously.

He tried to move her off, but her eyes glowed with magic and his wrists were slammed up and behind him.

“Who are you?” he demanded, more certain that this was not his father’s ward.

“What?  You don’t recognize your own sister?  I’m hurt.”  She got off him, then, but left her magic restraining him.  She twirled around one of the bed posts to face him once again, clutching the wood to her side.

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Sure you do.  After all, Uther decided a long time ago to fuck my mother Vivien when Goloris was away and now here I stand.”  Bitterness littered her voice.  Her tone changed then to a dangerously lighthearted one.  “No matter.  That’s not why I’m here.”

“You see, oh once and future king, I’m here to change things.  And it’s all _Merlin’s_ fault,” she spat the name out awfully.  “There was a battle.  It was a lovely battle.  You were losing!  And then Merlin came.  He should have just killed me, but I guess that wasn’t enough for the high and mighty _Emrys_.  Oh, no.  He made me relive everything, made me re-feel everything!  And then, _then_ , he had the _gall_ to show me his side of it all!  As if I cared to know!  I didn’t want to know!”

She thrust herself away from the bed post and started pacing the room, occasionally looking Arthur’s way as she continued her story.  Arthur was about to try and speak, but her eyes glowed gold again and he found himself mute.

“You see, I didn’t want to know that my sister _used_ me.  I didn’t want to know that she _manipulated_ me.  I didn’t want to remember that Merlin and I were once friends or that you and I were once something of friends.  I didn’t want to see that!  I didn’t want to know that!  I didn’t want to know that Uther would have given up all his reasoning about magic to save me!  And now it’s all here, in my head, and it won’t _leave me_!  So just after Merlin showed it to me and before he could kill me, I escaped from him.  I escaped from him and I came here.  Do you know why?  Do you?” she demanded.

 _No_ , Arthur mouthed.

“I’m here to show you everything he made me see.  You see, I realized something horrible.  We, all of us— you, me, Gwen, Uther, Merlin—we were all tethered to the same destiny.  Oh, sure, we thought we were taking our own paths, but not really.  Everyone except you, that is.  Oh, you were in the dark and it was so easy to think you as merely a pawn compared to everyone else.  But even when the wool was pulled over your eyes, what you did determined the fate of us all.”

She slid back on the bed and brushed a strand of Arthur’s hair back.

“There’s a prophesy about you.  It calls you the Once and Future King.  I bet everyone who heard it never thought of this.  See, in this very moment, from my very own perception, you were once a king, but yet here you lay, a future king.  Once and future.  Who knows?  Maybe this moment is what it’s all about?  Maybe not,” she shrugged.  She sounded half mad.

“I’m going to show you something, Arthur, all my memories and all the memories of Merlin’s that he gave me.  And then, when I’m done, you are going to swear to me to make a decision on all our fates.  You either destroy us swiftly or save us all.  Do you understand?  I don’t care which way you go, but you destroy us or save us.  No waffling, no picking and choosing.  You choose and you stick to it.  It’s that simple.”

She didn’t give him a chance to agree or disagree.  She straddled him again and looked into his eyes.  Words that went beyond Arthur’s comprehension, but obviously magical, flowed from her tongue.

Images and feelings flowed over his mind.  At first, disjointed, then they became stronger and linked together.

Morgana’s life.

Morgana’s dreams.

 _Who knows?  Someday people will see magic as a force of good_.

Morgana betrayed by a boy named Merlin.

Morgana’s betrayal.

Hatred for him.

They were siblings.

 _Camlann_.

 _Emrys_.

And then it changed.  He was no longer Morgana but a boy named Merlin.

Fear of being caught.

Protecting Arthur.

_I know her!  She has a good heart._

Torn between saving Morgana or saving them all.

Keeping secrets.

Losing faith.

Keeping faith in Arthur

Arthur was breathing hard when Morgana was done, though he hadn’t moved an inch.

“Shh, little brother, it’s alright,” Morgana smoothed her hand along his cheek.  “It’s only memories.  They can’t hurt you.  And magic.” She added matter-of-factly.  “That could hurt you.”  She grinned, but Arthur watched her still as the blood and energy seemed to progressively drain out of her face.  Her grin never left her face, but her body seemed to stumble, even sitting down.  She fell and laid next to him, throwing an arm over his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“What was that?” Arthur asked hoarsely, Morgana’s spell on his voice apparently lifted.  Images and feelings floated in his mind, some clearer than others, but all seemingly hard to grasp.

“My and Merlin’s memories.”

“Y-you tried to destroy Camelot.”  Those images seemed strongest in his mind.

“Yes,” and she kissed his shoulder.  She lifted her hand up and turned his head to face her with a gentle push of her fingers.  “But remember, Arthur, you can change it all.  You can doom us all or save us all.  One or the other.  You must promise.  Promise!  One or the other!” And her grip tightened on his chin.

His hands were now as free as his voice and he reached with his free hand and grasped hers, pulling it away.

“Promise,” she whispered.

So much of Morgana seemed to be swimming in his head.  So as he looked into her eyes, his mind filled in the blanks.  She was tired and weary and angry and hate-filled and bitter.  She was lonely.  She wanted it to end.  She didn’t want to die.  She did want to die.  She didn’t want it to be at Emrys’, her former friend’s, hand.  She hated Arthur.  She loathed him.  She missed him.  She believed Arthur might be the only one who could change all their fates, that he wasn’t as much of a pawn as she originally believed.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the rough knuckles.  “I promise.”

She slumped and relaxed.   She closed her eyes and pulled herself closer to him.  She let out a sigh that sounded of completion.  Arthur would rewrite history and maybe, hopefully, he could end her suffering ten years before her now.  One way or another.  He promised.  He would kill her or save her.

He noticed something, within the black of her clothes.  He touched her stomach and his hand came away with blood.

“Morgana?”

“Shh, Arthur.  I’m not dead yet.  But soon, before this day is done.  It’s alright.  I want to die.  There is nothing in this world for me.  It’s all been taken.”

Arthur didn’t care.  This woman who invaded his room, cast magic on him, and thrust memories into his head that weren’t his own (that he really needed to sort through) was somehow Morgana, his sister.  He sat up, grabbed a knife he kept attached to the headboard, just below the mattress, and cut through the top of her dress to better see the wound at her stomach.

“We should get you to Gaius,” he said as he saw a better look.  Fine spiderlike threads of magic danced over the wound.  He could tell it was all that was keeping her alive, so she wouldn’t bleed out.  The blood that Arthur had felt was what had poured out before she had been able to fend off her imminent death.

“No.”  The response was firm and left no argument.  She wouldn’t go to the man who could have helped her, before she went down the path she did.  “He wouldn’t understand, anyway,” she threw the excuse at Arthur softly, knowing the memories would take him longer to remember and understand than it did her.  She made sure.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She hadn’t seen that look in anyone’s eyes for her in so long.

“A bath,” she said abruptly.  “I think…I’d really like a bath.”  Not a paltry bowl of water that she had grown used to over the past few years.

Arthur nodded.  He seemed so young to her.  Ten years too young.  Ten years too naïve.

“I’ll be right back,” he crawled out of the bed and quickly threw on his discarded clothing from the day before.  “Don’t go anywhere,” he pointed.

“As if I could,” she replied with a sardonic grin and pushed herself into his pillows.

It was early, too early for anyone to be up really.  That never stopped Arthur Pendragon.  He made his way down to the kitchens where if any servant would be up, it would be there.  He was right.  Cook was.

“Prince Arthur!” the woman exclaimed and gave a clumsy curtsy, wooden spoon in hand.  She was surprised to see the prince in her kitchens and could count on one hand the other times she had.

“Hmm, yes.  Is anyone else up?”

“No, sire.”

“Where would you heat the bathwater?” he was looking around the kitchens with indifference.

She pointed to one of the hearths of the kitchen.  The fires hadn’t been lit yet, fires that would be used to help with breakfast.

“And the water?”

“There’s a pump just outside the kitchens,” pointing to the door that led outside.  She was very confused. 

“These for the water?” he grabbed a bucket that was off to the side and stacked with several others.

She nodded.  “Did you want me to heat bath water for you, sire?”

“Start the fire.”

She nodded and finally put down her wooden spoon, constantly looking between where she was going and the prince.  He had grabbed two of the buckets and went outside with them.  He was back inside with the two buckets and grabbed another two.  As he did this, she finished the fire and poured the water into the cauldron over the fire.

“How much more is needed to fill a bath?”

“A couple more to heat and you’ll want some cooler water to temper it, sire.  The bath, Morris and Allerd should be up very shortly.  Would you like me have them take the tub up to your rooms?”

He nodded and grabbed a couple more buckets, bringing them to her to heat and then grabbed two more buckets.  “I’ll start with these to bring water up to my rooms.  Discretion, cook, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course, sire.”

 

“Menial tasks from you, Arthur?”  Morgana jibed as he walked into the room with the two buckets.  He placed them on the table and went to sit next to her on the bed.  He put a hand on her forehead.  It was clammy and she was pale.

“You want a bath, don’t you?  No one but cook is up yet.”  He reached over to his bed curtains and released them from their ties so that when the tub and rest of the water was brought up, no one would see this bitter and old Morgana, while the young and innocent one resided in another part of the castle.

He laid down next to her once more and waited.  They didn’t speak.  While she fought the losing battle to stay alive, he digested what he could of her memories.

She was his sister.

She had magic and not a day ago, from her recollection, would have gladly destroyed him.

But she was his sister and had given him a vision of what could come to pass.

Save them or destroy them.  She wasn’t talking about an ‘us’ meaning Camelot.  When she said ‘us’, she meant anyone magical.

Had she simply told him of this, had she not shown him her life and another’s life, he would have run her through, happy to follow his father’s edicts.

But he had inside him all her fears now.  Though they weren’t his memories, he could remember fears not his, hatred not his, towards his father.  Right now, he couldn’t think too terribly much beyond that this was Morgana and that though he and the girl fought like cats and dogs, he always held affection for her.

He heard the door open and Morris and Allerd bring in the tub.  He peeked his head out of the curtains.

“Sire,” Morris bowed.

_It’s into the sun?_

_But, it’s not that bright._

_A bit like you then?_

_Laughter_

_Teach him a lesson.  Go on, boy._

_This’ll teach him._

_…_

_Hey!  Hang on!_

_Don’t stop!_

_I told you, keep moving!  Come on!  Run!  Do you want some moving target practice?_

_Hey, come on, that’s enough._

_What?_

_You’ve had your fun, my friend._

Arthur shook his head of a memory not his, nor Morgana’s, and looked to Morris.  “The water?”

“We’ll be up with it shortly, sire.” Morris and Allerd bowed to the head sticking out of the curtains and went off to get the water.

“And soaps!” he shouted after them.

Morgana reached for him, “Such a good brother, you are.”

He laid back down, tangled his fingers together over his belly, and looked back to her.  “You don’t look so well.”

“And such a way with words,” she scoffed.

“What can I do?”

“You can give me some of your energy.  Not much.  I really would like that bath, before I die, though.”

Her memories fluttered across his mind and he knew what she was asking for.  He held his hand out to her and she took it in hers.  A muttered few magical words and she breathed in deeply.  Some color returned to her cheeks and he felt like he fought off a dozen swordsmen at once.

“Mmm, better than I thought.  Must be all that magic you’re made of.”

A vague, almost indecipherable memory passed of a tiny blond woman telling him of how Uther used magic to help conceive an heir.  A shade, not his mother, filled with just enough truths to get him to kill his father.

He heard the door open again, more footsteps than just two people, and water being poured into the tub.  Once again, he slid out of bed, this time careful of the curtains hiding Morgana from view.

There were five servants carrying up steaming buckets of water, one of them being Guinevere.  Each gave a polite bow or curtsy as appropriate.

“Another two trips should do it, sire,” Morris said.

Arthur didn’t doubt that at least one or two of them thought it was possible he had a woman in his bed.  He wouldn’t fuel the belief, but with his bed curtains drawn and a prince helping to fetch the water for a bath likely didn’t help with potential rumors that were about to start.  It wasn’t the first time he had a woman in his bed, seen by servants.

He didn’t dare crawl back in bed.  Instead, he searched his closet for something vaguely appropriate for Morgana to wear after the bath and pulled out a fancy shirt he never wore.  It was a deep, rich blue and made out of the finer fabrics Morgana often wore.  It had been a gift that he graciously accepted but never wore.  For as much of a snob he could be about some things, he was also a knight and wore clothing that could take a beating more often than not.  The shirt wasn’t perfect, but it would certainly be cleaner than what she was wearing.  It would cover the necessities.

If it wouldn’t be so suspicious, he would have Guinevere fetch something from Morgana’s own wardrobe.

The servants were quick, quicker than normal.  It could be because it was too early in the morning for them to be completing others demands.  He would leave it at that thought.

The bath was poured and someone began a fire in the fireplace, stoking it to a good heat so warmth of the bath wouldn’t be so quickly lost.

“That will be all, thank you.”  He dismissed them.  When the last one was out the door, he locked it and tested the door to be sure it was locked.

He went back to Morgana.  She looked better.  She was even sitting up.  He knew it was false.  It was the energy he gave her, energy that was bound to wane before the day was out.

He helped her stand and walk over to the bath.  He undid what ties he found on her dress to loosen it.  With the slit he made in the dress to find her wound earlier, he was able to push the dress off her shoulders and it puddled to the floor.  He undid the binding on her breasts.  He knelt and unlaced her boots and she lifted her feet out of them. He pushed off her smalls. 

Her magic danced along her wound and he saw it went straight through her to the other side.  He balanced her as she stepped into the steaming bath and she settled in.

Towels were left and he grabbed one and eased it behind her neck so she could lie back comfortably.

He was about to step away when she grabbed his hand and stopped him.  He settled himself next to the tub.  She didn’t say anything.  She didn’t need to.  It was all floating in his head, swarming around.  She had poured all her secrets into him.  She was terribly lonely and wanted him close.

He reached for a washcloth and soap and dipped them into the water.  He gently smoothed the cloth over her face.  He dipped it into the water again to rinse and repeated until no speck of dirt remained.

He moved to her hands and washed them, going up the length of her arm.  She leaned forward and while the tips of her hair touched the water, he washed her back and her shoulders.  She leaned back again and he washed one leg and then the other.  He handed her the cloth for her to wash the more private areas.  Then he held the back of her neck and helped her to lean back, wetting her hair completely. 

He used the soap to wash it down.  He only briefly left her to grab the comb he rarely used and came back, brushing out the tangles.  Slowly, her hair came to a semblance of its former self.

At the end, she stood and he took a last remaining bucket of water and poured it slowly over her, rinsing away any last remnants of soap and dirt.  He wrapped a towel around her, over her shoulders, and helped her out of the tub.

She dabbed at her face with a hand covered by the towel, then took a seat next to the fireplace, looking into the element that brought her to know her magic.

Then he was behind her, having grabbed another chair, and brushed her hair, as he knew she liked.  His fingers fumbled a little when he began braiding her hair into a simple plait.  He may have never done so, but the memories certainly gave him the knowledge.

“Hold this for a moment.”  He handed her the end of the braid as he scoured his room for something to tie it with.  Finally, he came to a shirt of his that used string along the front, but one which he rarely used.  He pulled out the string and went back to her, took back the braid, and looped the string along the ends and tied it off neatly.

“The rest of the castle will be up soon,” she said softly, sounding much like her younger self.  Perhaps being back in this time, with the two of them strangely getting along, brought it out.

“Yes, I suppose so.”  He walked over to the shirt he found earlier and handed it over to her.

She took off the towel and slid on the shirt.  It came down to her fingertips, only just.

He walked over to the dress she came in, puddled on the ground, to see if there was anything salvageable from it.  There wasn’t.

“I don’t need a skirt.  Trousers would work just fine,” she smirked.

“Mine won’t fit you.”

At least her boots were usable, still.  He grabbed one of the cleaning tools Morris kept stashed in his chamber and scrubbed away dirt and debris.  It wasn’t all of it, but enough that they were presentable.

“Maybe you should petition the king to be a servant instead of crowned prince.  You certainly seem to be taking up the part,” she smirked.

He set the boots on the table and gave her a look.  “A prince is always servant to his people.”  He pulled that from somewhere, a memory from the Merlin fellow, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what actually happened or why it was said.  He always held a strong and deep loyalty to Camelot, but he wasn’t exactly…never mind.

The smirk didn’t leave her face as she walked over to his dresser, stole a pair of socks to put on, and then slid on the boots, that stopped just below her knees.  “Tie them for me?” she teased.

He did so, regardless.  He knelt down and laced them up.

She looked to be a strange picture—a man’s dress shirt, knee high boots, and her hair a single plait draped over one shoulder.

“We really should find a dress or skirt.  Propriety—“

“Screw propriety,” she walked over to his belts and grabbed a rather thick one, black that nearly matched her boots.  She grabbed one of his knives and pierced a new notch in the belt and tied it around her waist, seemingly to hold the shirt in place.

She stumbled slightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m not alright.  I have a stab wound through my gut and I’ll be dead before the day is done.”  She took a breath.  “Thank you for the bath.”

He nodded his head and scratched at the back of his head.

“I want to get out of this castle.  Let’s go for a ride.”

“Are you up for it?” he asked cautiously.  “You know what?  Let’s.” he changed his mind before he could answer.  Death was going to claim her, but it could be a pleasant day in the meantime.  He grabbed two of his cloaks.  His knight’s cloak he threw around his shoulders and he pulled the blue one over her shoulders, securing the clasp.  He pulled up her hood.

Yes, he was sure a servant or two was likely keeping a lookout at his room, curious about a potential guest, but there was no need for them to know it was Morgana.

She caught his wrist before he could pull back.  “You’re the better one of us Pendragons, you know.  Neither Uther nor I would have reacted so well, or so kindly.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat.  “We should get going.”

For all that Arthur acquiesced to a ride, he did not allow Morgana to ride on her own.  She had stumbled twice more as they went to get horses so he saddled the tamer Llamrei and saddled up, then helped Morgana up to behind him. 

He rode out beyond the gates and to the forest edge.  She held to his sides gently and only sometimes leaned into his back, seemingly for a rest to catch her breath.  When she didn’t seem to recover from leaning against him, he turned back towards Camelot and back to its gates.

A crowd was beginning to gather at the front steps of the castle proper.  He briefly tried to remember what was supposed to happen today, but there were too many memories jumbled in his head to concentrate on more than what was currently happening.  He headed back to the stables and as one of the stable boys took the reins, another stable boy helped Morgana down.  He then unhorsed. 

“Are you alright?”

She nodded from beneath her hood.  “Do you know what is going on out there?”

Arthur shook his head.

“It’s the twentieth anniversary of the beginning of the Purge.  They are executing a boy today, for sorcery.  What are you going to do?  Are you going to kill us or save us?”

“I—” What was he going to do?

She threw off the cloak, in the direction of one of the stable boys and stormed out of the stable.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, chasing after her.

“Forcing your hand.  I’m making you choose.”

“Let this serve as a lesson to all. This man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death. I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass.”

“Looks like we should be a little faster, brother!” and she hurried her steps, but they were not fast enough.  The two of them forced their way through the crowd just in time to see Uther’s hand raised and lowered, signaling the executioner and the young man’s head was severed.

Arthur was stock still.  All he could suddenly feel was fear rising that he was the one who could have been there.  It wasn’t really his fear, but Morgana’s and the boy, Merlin’s, fear that coursed through him.

Uther continued, “When I came to this land, this kingdom was mired in chaos, but with the people's help magic was driven from the realm. So I declare a festival to celebrate twenty years since the Great Dragon was captured and Camelot freed from the evil of sorcery. Let the celebrations begin.”

Arthur heard a wail come out of the crowd.  “There is only one evil in this land, and it is not magic! It is you! With your hatred and your ignorance! You took my son! And I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.”

Arthur’s fear became his own, then, because suddenly magic was threatening his own life.

“Seize her!” shouted Uther.

The woman, Mary Collins, started chanting, but suddenly Morgana wasn’t next to him anymore, but grasped around the old woman.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Morgana shouted, a grin on her face.  She petted the woman’s cheek, before putting a hand around her throat to stop further spells.  The woman struggled, but she was old.  Morgana was injured and dying, but still had some of her lent strength left.  “Should I kill her or save her?”

“Morgana!” Uther shouted.

She didn’t bother to glance the king’s way, all her attention was on Arthur.

Arthur stepped out from the crowd and stood in front of the two women.  Hatred toward him burned in the old woman’s eyes.

“She just threatened my life,” he said calmly.

“She did,” Morgana acknowledged.  She tightened her hold as the woman struggled all the more.

“Would you have me save those who would threaten lives?  Who would take lives?”

“A valid point,” she conceded.  “Save us or kill us, those who are free of crime, save existence,” she amended her demand.  It was, after all, a valid point.

“What’s your name, woman?” Arthur demanded.

The woman remained silent.  In the background, Arthur could hear the murmurs of the crowd and Uther’s demands to know what was going on.

“I believe it’s Mary Collins, isn’t that right?” Morgana whispered into the woman’s ear, loud enough for Arthur to hear.

“Very well, then.  If I were to let you go, Mary Collins, would you leave Camelot to harm no man or woman?  Would you accept this mercy to never return?”  His voice resounded throughout the courtyard and every man and woman standing there could hear his voice.

Her glare deepened and he knew she would never stop her path for vengeance.

“No?  Then by the power given to me by the crown, for the crime of threatening my person, I sentence you to death.  Understand this, Mary Collins, this sentence has naught to do with your magic and all to do with what you have intended.”

He looked into Morgana’s eyes, which were alight with a strange glee.  She had a bloodlust that settled into her somewhere between meeting Morgause and trying to kill Uther.  Her grin widened.

“Would you allow me the honor, Prince Arthur?” her voice lilted dangerously.

He nodded, his heart heavy.  “Goodbye, sister.”  His voice was too quiet for any other to hear.

“Goodbye, brother,” she replied in like.  “Don’t be sad.  This is only a beginning.  _Forbærne!”_

Morgana and Mary Collins lit up in a pyre of their own.  Mary Collins screamed an unholy scream.  Morgana was silent and smiling, eyes on her brother.

Arthur didn’t look away.  He knew she would rather die by her own magic than by Merlin’s hand.

Mary Collins was gone, ash in the wind.  Morgana was still there, a vision only of fire.  She gave him a larger smile when not ash, but sparks of fire were washed away by the wind.

The crowd was silent.  Arthur finally looked away from the empty spot where his elder sister once stood.  He looked about the crowd and his eyes landed on a boy, Merlin.  He blinked.

Of course, his mind whispered.  This was Merlin’s first day in Camelot.  Merlin’s memories came to the forefront of his mind.  Memories of the camaraderie between the two of them, all from Merlin’s perspective, danced in his mind, in between Morgana’s memories.  He looked away.  He looked up to Morgana’s window.

A confused and frightened girl stood there, looking out the window.  Her gaze met Arthur’s before he moved to look at his father.

Uther, at some point, had moved from the balcony to stand on the stairs.  He was confused and frightened and bewildered and terrifying looking.

“Was that Morgana?” Uther whispered as Arthur approached.

Arthur stood tall, looking every bit the king he would someday be.  “How could that be Morgana, father, when she is in her chambers?”  He once again glanced to Morgana’s window.  “I wouldn’t worry about it, father.  Neither witch that just burned can harm Camelot anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose they can.”  Uther seemed to regain confidence once he knew it was not Morgana who just burned.

Arthur turned back to the crowd.  Everything was about to change.  He had a choice to make.

_Do I kill them or save them?_

His gaze once again caught hold of Merlin.  He was a boy, merely a boy.  Arthur’s mind whispered this was the boy who stood against his sister and poisoned his sister and thwarted his sister and killed his sister.  His mind told him this was the boy who defied his own kind and saved Arthur and Camelot time and time again.

He looked up at Morgana’s window, though it was now empty of her standing there.  She was the girl who he could never ignore and got in his face.  She taunted him and teased him and loved him and hated him and tried to kill him.  She was his sister and he loved her and she would forever be a part of him.

Should he defy his father?  Should he fall in line and destroy magic users?

He walked into the castle and away from prying eyes.  “Forbærne,” he whispered into his hand, defiantly, and Arthur’s eyes shimmered gold as the magic subtly nudged in his hand.  He felt it before he saw it.  His mind whispered of Merlin showing another magic user this very way.  He opened his hand and there was a flame.

 _Save them_.  He fisted his hand together, extinguishing the flame.  How could he not save them?  Morgana gave most of her magic to him when she pushed in the memories.  How could he not save his own people?  After all, he was one of them now.

He caught sight of Morris coming his way.  “Morris!  You’re fired.”

He’d need a new manservant now.


End file.
